


Kinktober 2020 Prompts Collection

by Snowfilly1



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Crowley Watches Aziraphale Eat (Good Omens), Established Relationship, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Nervous Crowley (Good Omens), Ocean Sex, Phone sex - kind of, Post-Canon, Sleepy Sex, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wing Grooming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26843791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1
Summary: Collection of one shots for the Ineffable Kinktober Prompts.1. Licking / biting - They've discovered a few things in the past few minutes. Most of all, that Crowley likes using his mouth.2. Capture / Rescue - 'Call this a rescue?' Crowley comforts his angel after rescuing him, again.3. Distracted. 'Angel, can you talk to me?'4. In water. 'You won't stand on a weaver fish, angel. The idea is you float on your back and I suck you off.'5. Sleepy. 'Ssshh, go back to sleep, dear. I was just making some tea..' A soft, gentle morning after their first night together.6. Phone sex. 'Are you in bed yet? I'd sit there reading and have you sat up alongside me, wrap my arm round you.' Aziraphale takes care of Crowley.7. Wings. 'You can touch my wings if you want.' Aziraphale grooms his lover's wings.8. Masturbation. 'There's something I wanted to do with you tonight.' Crowley struggles with asking for what he wants; Aziraphale helps him with it.9. Food. 'Can't wait to get you home.' Crowley suffers through a long dinner at the Ritz before he can get his angel home.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 138
Kudos: 207
Collections: Ineffable Kinktober 2020





	1. Licking / biting

**Author's Note:**

> I have posted fics that are old enough to vote, and written more fics than I can remember, but can count the number of sex scenes I've written on one hand. Thanks to some gentle cheerleading from the Sauntering Vaguely Downwards FB group, I'm trying to fix that. 
> 
> I can promise everything in here will be fully consensual and loving; I'm making no promises about the writing!

They've discovered a few things in the last few minutes. That the world doesn't end if an angel kisses a demon. That their hands fit around each other's faces, and their fingers twine together as if they were made for this joining (and perhaps they were, neither of them are feeling inclined to think about Ineffable Plans at the moment, but they're alive and together so something must have worked out.)

Most of all, that Crowley apparently likes using his mouth. 

He's moved away from kissing to lick and bite along the edge of Aziraphale's jaw and from there down his neck. It's somewhere between overwhelming and nowhere near enough; he grabs Crowley's hand and pulls him back down when he sits up. 

'Don't stop.'

'I wasn't going to, but I don't fancy eating your bowtie either,' and he realises Crowley is smiling at him. The real, genuine smile he hasn't seen for eleven years, free of worry and doubt. 

'Take it off, then.'

He manages to grab Crowley's other hand just in time. 'I didn't mean miracle it away somewhere never to be seen again, you fiend. The human way.'

Crowley's hands slide around his neck, endlessly gentle. Safe. He pushes kisses against Aziraphale's face while he's undoing it, each brief press of lips supernova hot against Aziraphale's skin. 

The demon makes a grand performance of folding the bowtie and laying it carefully on the bed. Then he pauses, staring at Aziraphale. 'You sure about this, angel?'

Actions are easier than words. He takes advantage of Crowley's hesitation to turn the tables a bit, nips him on the throat, and Crowley laughs into his hair, a hot, pleased, sound. He feels a hand dragging up his back, pulling at his shirt and Aziraphale's suddenly sure they're both wearing too many clothes for this. 

'If - if you're going to eat me like one of those posh desserts you like ordering, angel, I don't think I'm gonna survive the night.' Crowley's voice is deeper, rougher, than he's ever heard it before. 

'You started it,' he responds and Crowley, still a serpent at heart, moves in a way that suddenly has Aziraphale lying on his back and Crowley crouched above him, looking down. 

His golden eyes, unguarded, intent, are the brightest thing Aziraphale's ever seen. 

'Want me to finish it then?' There's a distinct flash of fang as Crowley asks. His fingers, cupped around Aziraphale's cheek, are gentle; his whole body tense, waiting. 

Aziraphale draws the silence out as long as he can; he's hard and aching already but Crowley frozen above him is a masterpiece worth studying. 

'Darling.'

'Fuck. Warn a demon before you say something like that,' Crowley mutters and lets himself fall onto Aziraphale. 

They undo Aziraphale's shirt together, fingers and fabric tangling as much as their breath. When he's finally bare chested, Crowley sits up again and regards him. There's an almost physical weight to it; something that makes Aziraphale want to squirm with pleasure. No-one in his memory has ever looked so pleased to see him. 

'Fuck, angel, you're gorgeous.' 

He does squirm at that; wriggles on the bedsheets that are looking distinctly more tartan than when they came in here twenty minutes and a different world ago and Crowley watches. Licks his lips. 

They're mostly silent after that; Crowley's mouth is occupied and Aziraphale can't think beyond the sensations. Kisses to his ribs, a tongue dragging against his nipples, the muffled giggle as Crowley finds a ticklish spot just above his hip and thinks it's funny that Aziraphale shoves him off straight away, the rasp of teeth and stubble as his demon licks down his chest. 

The pooling heat in his stomach. The catch of breath in his throat, the ache between his legs that's slowly eclipsing everything else he can feel. 

'Crowley?'

'Mmm?' He raises his head just enough that Aziraphale can see him: face flushed, hair ruffled and spiked already, lips parted. Grinning. 

They've managed 6,000 years without needing words. Crowley gets the message; has probably been thinking about it already if the eagerness with which he helps Aziraphale strip the rest of his clothes off is any indication. 

It's overwhelming in the best way; no niceties or teasing, just Crowley taking his cock into his mouth and sighing, moaning around the weight of it so Aziraphale feels the vibrations, and then starting to suck. 

He tangles his fists in the sheets. Crowley grabs his wrist, pulls until Aziraphale gets the message and braces himself on the demon's shoulders instead. It means he has to sit up, but Crowley mutters something indistinct and sucks harder, messily, clumsily, and it doesn't matter, because Aziraphale tries to warn him, and doesn't get more than a syllable out before Crowley's saying 'Yes,' and Aziraphale's coming in his mouth. 

He thinks he blacks out for a second. 

Realises it's Crowley's wings mantled over them both. 

Stares up at his lover. 

Crowley pulls off after a minute and sits up. Come is running down his chin, down his neck, white jewels against the black of his shirt. There's a wet patch on the front of his jeans that Aziraphale can't take his eyes off. 

'That was something,' and Crowley's voice is wondering, amazed. Matches exactly how Aziraphale feels; as if it was something too good to speak of. 

'Yes.'

Crowley surges up the bed to lay alongside him, tangling arms and legs with his, hair flicking against Aziraphale's face. He wants to say something meaningful, something that will let Crowley know just what this means; that if he has his way, it'll be the first night of forever. 

He's still trying to find the words when Crowley prods him in the chest and says 'Oi. By the way, just because I miracled one tie of yours into the void somewhere and lost it doesn't mean you're allowed to nag me about it a couple of centuries later,' and then they're both laughing in each other's arms and Crowley is kissing him again. 

Laughing and kissing. 

That's enough, he thinks. With Crowley, that will always be enough.


	2. Rescue / capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some minor mentions of blood and injuries at the start of this, but nothing graphic.

'You call this a rescue?'

Crowley glares at the angel, who's wearing a bit too much blood for his liking. He's sat on the floor, back braced against the kitchen cupboards, wings trailing on the dirty lino. 

'You call this 'being in control of the situation'?'

Aziraphale makes a hand gesture that he didn't know the angel knew, and it makes them both laugh. It fractures the heavy dread in the house.

Crowley pauses. Takes a couple of useless breathes for calmness and walks gingerly to the edge of the circle. Angel traps shouldn't hurt a demon. A demon who's spent most of the past few years falling into bed with an angel at every opportunity; well, neither of them have fallen, nothing's changed about their corporations as far as they can tell but it's not something he wants to gamble on. 

Aziraphale gazes up at him, and the sheer trust almost overwhelms him. 

'I think breaking their link to that book should have done the trick. Hang on, let me see if I can break the circle with something.'

The nearest thing Crowley can find is a baking tray; he sees the amusement in Aziraphale's eyes as he waves it around as though it's a shield. But it doesn't spark or instantly shatter with cold once it gets near to the trap, so it's probably safe enough.

'You might wanna move back, love.'

The endearment slips out unbidden; Crowley hardly uses it outside their bedroom but here, in the cold January morning, under the glow of flickering fluorescent tubes, it's a comfort. A promise of home, and the fact he'll be taking Aziraphale there very soon. 

The angel shuffles over as much as he can. 

Crowley closes his eyes even behind the glasses and chucks the tray across the circle. There's a flash but hardly enough to register, and then the painted lines fizz and vanish. Aziraphale shivers. 

Two strides, and he's with his angel, hands resting on his shoulders. Three breathes, and he's kneeling down, on eye level with him. 'Are you -'

Aziraphale kisses him in reply, fiercely. Hands tangling and tugging at Crowley's hair, pulling him even closer. He kisses back. 

It's a while before they stumble out into the daylight, Crowley holding most of Aziraphale's weight just because he can rather than because it's needed. 

All those rescues over so many centuries, all the times he's wanted to help and support afterwards and he's had to distance himself, stay away after the initial rescue. Now...ah, now, he can rest his hand on Aziraphale's thigh as they drive back; stop at a cafe and insist on stopping to pick up a rum cake that he knows Aziraphale enjoys; touch him and keep touching to reassure them both that this is real. 

They spend the afternoon tangled on the couch, Aziraphale falling asleep despite his protests that he's fine. Crowley folds himself mostly out the way so Aziraphale has room, and settles down to wait, stroking his hair and watching the darkness fold into the sky. He miracles the lights on, miracles himself a coffee, and waits. 

'Bed?'

It startles him from a state that's more dream than waking. 'Course. C'mon.'

He slides into bed mostly naked, taking a moment to tie his hair back, and reaches for Aziraphale, who reaches back and kisses him again. 

There's an undercurrent there that's something like 'I missed you.' 'I was scared.' 'I thought I lost you.' It covers a lot of things. 

He has to force himself to slacken his grip on Aziraphale's top before he tears the fabric. 

They're both trembling. 

'Want you,' Aziraphale says, and it's more an exhalation than words, his lips tracing the shape of them against Crowley's neck. 

He settles for 'OK', which it is, and pulls Aziraphale closer. Runs his hands down the angel's back, down his legs, over his face; all the so dearly loved curves of him. 

You're here. I'm here.

There's a lot of kissing. A lot of making sure that this isn't his brain betraying him again. 

Tonight, they're both gentle, both slow. He kisses across where all the marks were, no matter that he'd healed them as soon as he'd got to Aziraphale's side. It's the memory he's kissing away; the fact that he wasn't there. 

He notices his own arousal almost absently; something that's a long way away, unimportant compared to Aziraphale saying softly 'you found me, my love,' and his own replies of 'yes, yes, I'll always find you.'

Aziraphale takes his hand and guides him, wraps Crowley's fingers around his cock, leads him into a rhythm that he knows full well won't get him off, but it's comfortable, familiar. Crowley can feel the heat of him like this, the human warmth of arousal and the faint spark of something divine, and most of all, the rightness. As if he'd been made solely to pleasure Aziraphale like this; stroking him until he's breathing hard, pre-come leaking over Crowley's fingers, his own cock throbbing. 

He's not surprised when Aziraphale moves their joined hands away before he's anywhere near close, nor when Aziraphale pulls him in for another kiss.

'You awake enough to make love to me, dear?'

Aziraphale yawns before he gets to the end of his sentence, and Crowley only just manages not to laugh. Aziraphale still tends to deny being sleepy. 

'Always.'

It's not their usual position but he wants to hold his angel close, so they end up on their sides, Crowley wrapping his limbs around him once he's opened him up, pushed inside of him. Aziraphale's hot and tight around his cock, warm and alive, so very present, in his arms. 

Safe. 

Home. 

Together. 

It's not long before they're both weary, both had enough. He wants to fall asleep with Aziraphale far more than he wants to come, although it's Aziraphale who calls a halt first and turns to face him, snapping his fingers so they're both clean and dry. 

'I love you.'

It's not often that Aziraphale says it so plainly, and Crowley smiles at him before replying. 'Love you too, angel. Show you properly in the morning?'

'You -' and Aziraphale yawns again - 'you already did.'

Crowley pulls him as close as he can; holds him as though intent alone will be enough to protect him. They fall asleep like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. This was meant to be sex, and then plot kept happening and it wasn't even very sexy sex when they did get around to it!


	3. Distracted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short scene from that night at Crowley's flat.

Crowley would be the first to admit that his knowledge of sex is mostly theoretical. Oh, he's seen enough over the centuries to have a good understanding of how it all works, and a few insights into things he's categorised as 'oh, yeah, that looks good,' but there's never been anything practical until tonight. 

But he's fairly sure making love isn't meant to feel like Aziraphale slipping further away from him with every movement; isn't meant to make him feel like it's a particularly imaginative wank session. 

'Angel?' he tries again. 

No response. 

Aziraphale's still warm and tight around his cock, and he's smiling, but Crowley doesn't think the angel's really with him right now. 

'Angel? Aziraphale?'

No response, although maybe the smile's a bit wider. Aziraphale's still looking up at him. 

Crowley pulls out, wriggles up the bed so he can lay alongside Aziraphale. 'Angel, can you talk to me? You're starting to freak me out a bit now.'

Still no reply, and he's starting to feel the familiar coldness of panic threatening again. Has he ruined this already? More unforgivably, has he hurt Aziraphale?

'I know what Agnes' prophecy means.'

'What?' It isn't quite a shout, but it's a lot louder than he intends it to be. 

'Her prophecy. You know, the choose your faces wisely one. Crowley, I know what we need to do.'

He holds Aziraphale's hand as the angel explains things, promises things, and he believes him. Trusts him. 

***

'I'll try not to get distracted this time,' Aziraphale promises, nuzzling against Crowley's hair. They haven't made it upstairs; they're sprawled on the sofa that Crowley normally occupies when he stays at the shop, but the World hasn't ended and this is perfect. This is everything. 

'You were saving our lives. Think I can forgive you.'

It turns out that, without the threat of head offices and retribution hanging over him, Aziraphale is very single minded. 

They make it up to bed just as it's getting light and start again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think, looking at the prompt list, and other fics, I'll end up doing 6/7 of these and I will try to post them on vaguely the right day!


	4. In water

'What if I stand on a weaver fish?'

'Aziraphale, I can assure you, you won't stand on a weaver fish. The whole point of this is that you're meant to be floating on your back.'

'While you suck me off.'

'Yeah. Uh...yeah, that's kind of the point. You float there and enjoy it, and I suck you off.'

'Dearest, I just want you to be aware that I think this is an absolutely terrible idea.'

Crowley looked a bit abashed at that, his expression suddenly switching to serious. 'Aziraphale, if you don't want to...I only thought it might be fun. I don't want to do it if you don't want to.'

He smiled across at the demon. 'I didn't say that, did I? Just that I think this is a really bad idea. It might be fun though.'

***

An hour later, Crowley was cursing his inability to give in gracefully. He'd nearly drowned four times in the last five minutes, and Aziraphale was laughing at him. If he'd had his mouth free, he'd have said something about 'can't you at least be nice to me while I've got your cock in my mouth?' but he didn't, so listening to Aziraphale giggle it was. 

At least the waves were loud enough that he couldn't hear all of it. 

He bobbed his head down on Aziraphale's cock again, just as a wave moved the angel's body up and Crowley bashed his face against his hip bone. It hurt. 

Still, demons were stubborn. He was going to get Aziraphale off like this if it was the last thing he did. 

And the beach was deserted. There, that was another thing to be happy about. Not that they'd ever seen any humans on it before - he still wasn't convinced that him and Aziraphale hadn't created this place from imagination and hope - and Crowley spent a lot of sunny afternoons snake shaped and draped across the hot rocks there, but his luck did tend to run out in spectacular fashion. 

Nope, even that wasn't good enough to keep him distracted. 

The next wave knocked him sideways, ended with him floundering in suddenly deep water and his mouth, luckily, well away from Aziraphale. 

'Crowley?'

He spat out a mouthful of saltwater and tried to look in control of the situation. 'What?'

'Don't you think we ought to give this up?' Aziraphale flipped over to stand in the water. It was up to his ribs, his chest and hair soaked where he'd been floating, and Crowley couldn't take his eyes off him, despite the circumstances. 

'I thought you were enjoying it?' he hedged.

'I don't think discorporation by drowning is going to be much for either of us, darling. And you've got seaweed in your hair, look.'

Crowley found the offending kelp and chucked it away, still trying to find some words that weren't 'alright, you were right and this was a dreadful idea.'

But he was cold, and it hadn't been working and Aziraphale was making a show of shivering now, rubbing his hands together. 

'C'mon. We can go back home and take a nice hot shower together...'

No wonder the angel had always managed his temptations so well. He was a natural. 

'If you're sure, angel.'

Aziraphale's hand fit around his as though they'd been made for each other. 'You can do that just as easily in the shower. And maybe next time we go away, we could go somewhere warm and try it out again? It wasn't a bad idea, maybe just not the right place.'

Crowley kissed him. Let the cold surf roll around the pair of them in their swimming trunks, and the seaweed tangle around their legs. He tasted of salt, bitter and astringent and life itself. 'Thanks for not minding that I had a stupid idea in my head, angel.'

Aziraphale stroked some of his hair down, easing it back into place. He'd started growing it out a few months ago and it touched his shoulders now. 'You didn't. It's fine to have ideas and want things, Crowley, even if it doesn't work out right.'

He shook his head at that, and Aziraphale knew, as he always did, when to change the line of the conversation. 

'Well, I didn't stand on a weaver fish, so things could have been worse. C'mon. Let's get home.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if the sea around the South Downs has weaver fish? They're evil little sods that hide in the sand at low tide and sting if you stand on them. I'm sure they wouldn't do much damage to an angel but I'm also sure he'd be over dramatic at the prospect of it. 
> 
> Sea sex is probably very very dangerous. I mean, it's always trying to kill you without being distracted by other things!


	5. Sleepy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a happy, soft, sleepy scene.

'Ssshh, go back to sleep, dear. I was just making some tea..'

That wakes Crowley up more than almost anything else he can imagine; there's only been a few times Aziraphale has been close to him while he's asleep and none of them have ever been good. 

But...

He gives a cautious stretch, expecting to feel tendrils of pain, the echo of things angelic healing can't wash away. He's never woken up with someone else alongside him and it not be a bad experience. 

'There you are, darling.'

Snowflake light, a hand cradles his cheek.

Crowley stretches more fully, rolling his shoulders, flexing his arms. Nothing hurts.

And suddenly, overwhelmingly, he remembers. 

They'd had lunch at the Ritz. They'd walked home together. Aziraphale had brushed his hand against Crowley's; had smiled at his surprise. The angel's hand had fitted so perfectly into his. And once they were home - he can admit that now, he's thought of this dusty shop as home for so very long - they'd checked the books together, sat on the couch together and started kissing without needing to speak. Aziraphale had led him up to bed a long while before it got dark. And here they were; Crowley laying chest to chest with his angel, both of them naked.

'Darling,' and Aziraphale's voice is everything he's wanted to hear over centuries. Unguarded, full of affection. 'My darling Crowley.'

He kisses Crowley on the forehead.

They rest there together for a moment, Crowley watching the sunlight spill through the curtains and give Aziraphale a halo. 

'We're OK?' Crowley asks softly. This isn't a dream, and yet, and yet...

'Very,' Aziraphale confirms. 'And you can go back to sleep if you like.'

He opens his mouth to ask, 'will you stay?' and closes it before he manages a syllable as Aziraphale says 'I'll finish this while you're sleeping,' and makes a grab for a paperback that he doesn't see the title of. Aziraphale pulls himself up to a sitting position, rests the book against his knees and one hand on Crowley's chest. 

'Love you,' Aziraphale says. 

'Love you,' he echoes, and moves a bit closer. 

He falls asleep to the sound of Aziraphale rustling pages, trying to find where he'd left off. 

The second time he wakes is different. He remembers where he is, who he's with, even though he's not fully awake yet. Although...he shifts against the quilt, feels the drag of the fabric against his cock and realises that he's woken up hard. 

'Good morning,' Aziraphale says a few minutes later. Crowley isn't sure if he's noticed he's being watched or he's finally reached the end of a chapter.

'Good morning.'

The book gets carefully laid aside. Aziraphale wriggles down under the quilt again and Crowley finds himself embraced, pulled close. Aziraphale's hands trace down over where his wings would be.

There's a delighted noise when Aziraphale feels his erection, and a kiss that trails off into teasing bites along his jaw, down his neck. Crowley tips his head back, shivers at the pressure of Aziraphale's teeth against his jugular vein, and then fights back a yawn. 

Aziraphale laughs, strokes his hair. 'I'd say you could go back to sleep again but I think you might be a bit too distracted to get off.'

'Angel!'

In reply, he gets what he always thinks of as Aziraphale's bastard grin at full power and the assurance that the angel knew exactly what he'd said. 

'You weren't so easy to scandalise last night, dearest. What do you want?'

The bluntness of the question gives him pause for a moment, or maybe it's his fault for still being sleep hazed. Yesterday afternoon, last night, had been a blind rush of feeling and sensation; a 'thank fuck we're still alive,' a 'we've been waiting too long for this.' They'd both wanted everything at once, and they'd made a mess of each other's clothes a long while before they'd gone upstairs. 

Brilliant, wonderful as it had been, he hadn't had a chance to think about things he might want. 

'Dearest?' Aziraphale's stroking him, hand wrapped firmly around his cock. Other hand drifting down his chest, fingers playing across his ribs. 'Or I can keep doing this.'

He hisses agreement, bucks his hips against Aziraphale's hand. 

'I've got you, darling. There. Let me...'

Dimly, he's aware that it ought to be the other way around, that he ought to be looking after Aziraphale - that's the way it's always been - but this feels so good, so much better than his own frantic hand and a guilty effort to wrench his thoughts away from Aziraphale. 

He can just enjoy this, relax into the steady rhythm Aziraphale's set up and the stream of gentle words that he can't quite make out. 

'That's it, my darling. Whatever you like. Fuck my hand if you want. I've got you.'

Underlining his point, Aziraphale brings his wings out. Crowley's breath catches; he's never seen anything quite so beautiful. Never had time to just admire them. 

'That's it, you're OK. I've got you.'

He reaches down and grabs Aziraphale's wrist, wanting more contact with him, and the angel understands, of course he does; gathers his wings down until they're brushing against Crowley's sweat-slicked skin. 

'I've got you.'

He falls gently this time, thrusting up into Aziraphale's palm; shouting but only with joy and release. 

Aziraphale holds him, kisses him, tells him that he loves him until he falls asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a fill for the 'clothed' prompt recently, but it ended up being so long and so angsty that it got kicked out to stand on its own as a fic. If anyone's interested, there's 2,400 words about a sad demon in Rome here https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011845


	6. Phone sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right.
> 
> CW For brain weasels. Crowley's having a bad day, feeling insecure and down and not wanting to be a burden or a nuisance to his lover, worrying that he might not be wanted. Aziraphale's not having any of that, but Crowley's thoughts are still there. He's struggling.

The hotel room is that particular bland shade of boring that Crowley regrets ever having invented. With the fluorescent lights, it manages to be too bright for comfort and too dim to see properly at the same time. 

He throws himself down on the bed and blesses under his breath. There are drawbacks to doing human things and this is one of them. He'd spent the first two evenings talking to people at the bar, generally having fun, and not letting anyone notice he wasn't getting drunk or tired, but he still has to spend some time in his room otherwise he'll draw attention for more than his glasses and the Bentley. 

The quilt cover is an assault of bright colours. He scrunches it in one fist and wonders if it's too late to call Aziraphale. Of course it isn't, the angel hardly sleeps when they're together, let alone when Crowley's up in Scotland, but...

He doesn't want to be needy. 

Doesn't want to be aggravating. 

Maybe Aziraphale's enjoying the space for a few days, not having Crowley underfoot. 

Crowley shakes his head, yells at his mind to shut up and yanks his mobile out before he can change his mind. 

'Crowley! Dearest, how are you?'

'Is it OK...You don't mind me calling?'

'Why would I mind you calling me?' There's a sudden shading of concern in Aziraphale's voice. 'Of course I want to talk to you.'

Crowley sighs, tries to relax the tension in his shoulders and arms. 'Dunno. Head was being stupid, that's all.'

'Oh my darling. Come on. Tell me about the cars.'

Crowley does, rattling through a rundown of the past three days beyond the texts he'd sent. Different cars at the show, people he'd met, things that had happened. Cursing himself for doubting, for ever doubting, that his lover wouldn't want to hear from him, when Aziraphale's enthusiasm was so easy to hear. 

'What about you?' he asks eventually. 'What've I missed?'

Aziraphale's list is small things, good things. The apple tree is finally getting blossom. A long walk on the nearby beach. A book club meeting, where he'd apparently won an argument about Jane Austen and only just been able to keep himself from saying 'well, because I used to take tea with her,' when challenged on where he'd got his insights from. 

'And I've missed you, of course,' Aziraphale concludes as though that simple sentence isn't enough to derail Crowley's thoughts entirely. 'Missed you so much.'

He makes a noise that Aziraphale apparently takes as agreement, instead of shock. Of course he's missed Aziraphale; missed him every second he'd allowed himself to think about home and their cottage and the 10 months of stolen time they've had since the world didn't end. It's just that it's easy to start doubting, listening to the voices in his head instead of Aziraphale's. 

'You're struggling, aren't you?' Aziraphale says suddenly and he feels like he's missed half a conversation, because he's been very careful about keeping his mouth shut. 

'Sorry,' doubles up as a confession. 

'Dearest. My dearest. Oh Crowley...' and he's so very glad that Aziraphale doesn't ask questions, just starts talking to him, reminding him of how much he's loved. Wanted. Valued. 

'Do you want to come back? I mean, leave the Bentley there and do your phone line trick for a few hours?'

Crowley thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. 'Not thinking straight an' I'm tired. Don't fancy risking it when I'm like this. And don't you try, I don't want to track you down from the telephone exchange again.'

'That was one time. Are you sure you're alright, dearest? I don't like thinking of you alone.'

He almost laughs. Stops before it can become a sob. He's been alone for the best of 6,000 years; he can manage a few days away from his lover, especially when it had been his idea in the first place. 'Not alone, am I? You're talking to me.'

'That's not the same, and you know it. I wish I could hug you.'

'I'd like that,' slips out as a response before he can check himself. 

'Consider yourself hugged then, dear boy. Are you in bed yet? I'd sit there reading and have you sat up alongside me, wrap my arm round you.'

He knows the angel knows what phone sex is; he's lived in Soho long enough that there's things he's explained to Crowley, and he can't help smiling at the idea of Aziraphale deciding phone cuddling can be a thing. He thinks it ought to feel stupid, like a joke; it just feels safe and warm instead. 

'That-I'd - that would be...nice.' He manages to spit the last word out.

'Good. We'd sit there like that all evening if you wanted.'

'Would you bring your wings out?' There, he's managed to ask for something and not stammer his way through it.

'Of course. I'd wrap them around both of us if you wanted. Or do you want yours out as well?'

'Just yours. Mine would clash with the paintwork here,' and he tries to make a joke of it, when what he really means is, 'I want to be safe in yours.'

'That wouldn't do, would it? Would you let me stroke your hair, dearest?'

'Yeah. Course.' He loves that, even the thought of it. There's something calming about Aziraphale running his fingers through his hair. Even braiding it, now he's got the hang of it. 

'That's what I'd do for you then, dearest. Stroke your lovely hair. And your face. Hold you. You're safe with me, Crowley. Perfectly safe, in our room.'

'Would you...would you read to me?'

'Always. I'm reading Masefield at the moment. Here... "Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir..."

Crowley lets the world slip away, warmed by Aziraphale's voice.

'That's it, my darling. I'm holding you...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, phone cuddling is close enough, right? Right?
> 
> I did start this off with the idea of it being sex, but I don't think Crowley was in the right headspace to enjoy it. If Aziraphale had suggested it, he probably would have said yes even if he didn't feel like it...which is why Aziraphale doesn't mention it. 
> 
> The poem is the opening line of 'Cargoes' by John Masefield and it is one of my favourites. https://allpoetry.com/cargoes


	7. Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is unsure about things in this; he's into the idea but nervous and a bit embarrassed.

'You can touch my wings if you want.' 

Crowley's voice is so tense, so edgy, that Aziraphale puts his book down and looks at the demon currently sitting alongside him. 

Crowley's fiddling with a corner of the blanket and staring at his wine glass, head half turned away. 

'Dearest?'

'I said, you can touch my wings if you'd like. I know you want to.'

He does. He's wanted to touch Crowley's wings, run his fingers through the spilt-ink, stardusted, shimmer of them since Eden. Wanted to return Crowley's casual kindness in grooming his; something they've been doing since Wessex and a cold, damp night in a tent when Crowley had snapped 'stop whining about being ruffled and come here, angel.' Wanted to kiss and caress them ever since they'd become lovers a few months ago, when the world hadn't ended and the late August heat had draped itself around the bookshop. 

Crowley's never wanted him to. 

'You always said they were sensitive.'

Crowley fidgets. 

'I don't want to hurt you.'

There's a long silence, and Aziraphale tries to think how else to make his point. Crowley still looks uncomfortable, although...

'I said, they were sensitive, angel. I never said they hurt.' Crowley's blushing enough fiercely enough to clash with his hair. 

'Oh.' 

'Oh? What sort of a response is that?' and although he's still blushing, the tension is gone from Crowley's voice, replaced by his normal teasing. 

'Hush, you fiend,' Aziraphale rests a hand on Crowley's back, between the wing blades. 'Are you sure?'

'Very fucking sure. Left one's all snarled up since you used it as a pillow last night. Thought this would be more fun than doing it myself, in all senses of that phrase.' 

Crowley's back is warm under his shirt, muscles still tense with the watchfulness that hasn't left him since the airfield. Aziraphale drags his fingers across, too light to be a massage, too light to disturb feathers and bones that don't exist on this plane but Crowley groans anyway. 

'Fuck. Yeah, that's good.'

The height difference makes things awkward, and they end up with Crowley sitting on the floor, between Aziraphale's legs with his wings spread across the sofa. The trust in it makes Aziraphale's throat feel tight and his heart ache; how freely, how completely Crowley offers himself. 

He touches one black feather with a fingertip and feels Crowley squirm. 'If you want me to stop anytime, darling, you only -'

'If I want you to stop anytime, it'll be because you're about to get me off.' 

'I don't see why we'd need to stop for that,' he says, and strokes Crowley's hair this time. It gets much the same response. 'If you wanted to.'

'Not...not going to be much fun for you, is it? Watching me wank off while you're sorting my wings out.'

He thinks it might be a lot of fun, actually. Crowley is already a captivating sight, and they haven't yet found anything in bed that he doesn't enjoy doing with him. But he knows how doubtful Crowley can be, so he settles for another stroke down his hair and neck, and replying 'we'll see. Enjoy it.'

Crowley flicks his left wing onto Aziraphale's lap as though he's afraid of losing his nerve if he hesitates. 

They're warm under his hands, although he isn't sure if it's a trace of hellfire or old stars. It's heady warmth, intoxicating, and it's easy to find an action that Crowley likes, running his fingers down each shaft, tidying the barbs with tiny movements. 

His wings are indeed sensitive. There's a litany of half bitten off words and strangled consonants from the moment Aziraphale starts grooming in earnest, aborted movements and flickers of tension in his muscles that Aziraphale's learnt to recognise as 'extremely turned on and trying to ignore it.'

He wants to push Crowley a little, encourage him to enjoy this, but he knows it'll be too much. So he bites down on all the encouragement and praise that's normally a part of their love making, and keeps straightening feathers, pretending that he can't see the bulge in Crowley's jeans. 

'That alright?' he asks as he finishes the first wing.

'Yeah. Yeah, fuck Aziraphale, that's more than alright.' Crowley takes advantage of the break to push his hair back behind his ears, and Aziraphale notes that it's sweat damp already. His hands are resting on the demon's shoulders now, gentle, not restraining. 

'Don't stop.'

'I won't.' He traces down the line of Crowley's throat, over the rabbit quick movement of his pulse. So human, so vulnerable here between Aziraphale's legs. 'You can enjoy it, darling. However you want. I won't mind.'

Crowley nods, once, and very insistently flaps his right wing. A plume of dust filters up from the nearest bookshelf and they both laugh, both relax. 

Aziraphale snaps the dust away and takes Crowley's wing in his hands. Runs his hands down to the outer flight feathers, and smiles when he hears his own name muttered. By the time he's fixed three feathers, Crowley's repeating his name like a talisman. 

'It's alright, darling. Whatever you want,' he reminds him. 

Another feather, and Aziraphale's not surprised to hear the little metal noise of Crowley's zip being undone, the sigh as he wraps his hand around his cock. 

'That's it,' he whispers to Crowley. 'Just enjoy it, my love.'

He's not sure how he manages to keep grooming as he watches Crowley stroking himself; maybe there's an instinctive surety about sorting feathers. 

'Enjoy it.'

Crowley's fucking his hand almost desperately now, his hand and his cock the only visible skin, jeans bunched down around his hips. He's beautiful. 

'Don't stop,' Crowley says, and it's only that forces him to keep going, to do anything other than watch his lover come undone like this. 

He does. Fixes two more feathers into place, while Crowley keeps repeating his name, voice getting hoarser, more slurred. 

'Gonna come, angel,' and Aziraphale does stop then, leaving one hand tangled in the feathers and kisses the back of Crowley's head, the side of his temple. 

'I've got you, dearest. I've got you.'

Crowley comes over his hand and his stomach, white streaking across his black shirt. He's silent for a moment, then turns and rests his face against Aziraphale's legs. 

Aziraphale holds him for a long time.


	8. Masturbation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is very hesitant and nervous about asking for what he wants here; it's all loving and gentle but he's a bag of nerves for most of it.

It's an annoying habit of Aziraphale's, Crowley tells himself. The angel insists on making Crowley ask for things in bed, insists that he isn't allowed to just go along with whatever Aziraphale wants. 

It's not annoying. It's actually endearing, and he loves it even as he tries to organise his thoughts into a coherent sentence. 

Aziraphale won't mind. The nearest he's come to minding anything in the past three weeks was when his 'what do you like, Crowley?' had been met with 'dunno, really, whatever you like, I can do that.' That had earnt him a lecture about boundaries and consent and a lot of terminology that made Crowley remember he'd spent a couple of hundred years living in Soho. 

But no judgement. 

Which isn't helping. He fidgets on the sofa, jiggling a foot, twisting the blanket in his fingers and tries to find the words before Aziraphale comes back from his last thing at night round of the shop and leads him upstairs. 

'Aziraphale, could I...'

'Aziraphale, I want...'

'Please...'

That last one seems especially wrong; he doesn't want to beg. 

Cursing, he grabs a glass of wine that wasn't there a few minutes ago and gulps at it. He can hear Aziraphale walking back through the stacks of books, see the lights flicking off behind him so that he seems to be haloed by cheap fluorescent lighting. 

'Crowley?' Aziraphale's voice is softer these days; more unguarded, as though he's no longer worried about anyone else hearing the affection in it. It gets Crowley every time, leaves him wondering what he's ever done to deserve it. 

'Are you alright, dearest? You look worried.'

He flexes the blanket again, tartan strands soft against his hands. He pulls them taut, wondering if they've got a breaking point. 'Bit nervous.' The telling the truth thing is getting easier. He's spent so much of his existence lying to Hell that he still finds himself doing it unconsciously now. 

Aziraphale perches next to him, close but not close enough to touch. Crowley can smell him; the stead fast comforting scent that he's never been able to resist. 

He doesn't push. He never does; he simply sits there. 

Eventually, Crowley reaches over and takes his hand. Locks their fingers together, rubs his thumb against the back of Aziraphale's hand. 

'Can we go to bed?'

'Of course.' Aziraphale leads the way, doesn't say anything until they're undressing and then it's very simply, very plainly 'darling, I promise it'll be alright.'

Crowley surprises himself by pulling Aziraphale into an embrace; holds him as closely as only a snake can do. Buries his face in the crook of Aziraphale's neck and breathes in deeply, shivers with pleasure as Aziraphale starts stroking his hair. 

He wants to be furious with himself, only manages to be glad he's got his lover with him. 

Aziraphale kisses his silgil, kisses the top of his ear. Lets him keep silent. 

It's a while before he wants to talk and he manages to avoid starting with an apology. 'There's something I wanted to do with you tonight,' which still sounds crude to his ears; he knows he's talking to Aziraphale who sniggers his way through the Canterbury Tales, it's not like he minds at all, but Crowley wishes he could do the silver-tongued romantic thing anyway. 

Aziraphale nods, which means his hair tickles Crowley's face. 'Of course. Tell me?'

'You don't have to, it was only an idea.'

'I know that, dearest.' Aziraphale's hand is on his back now, rubbing gentle circles across bare skin. 'We don't have to do anything, but I'd like to hear it if there's something you'd like.'

Wrapped close against his lover, it doesn't feel so much like being brave. 'Wanna come on you. Stroke myself off an' come on you.'

Aziraphale makes a small noise, which he thinks is consideration, and keeps rubbing circles across his shoulders. 'We can do that.'

He's glad that Aziraphale doesn't ask for any more details, ask him for any reasons why he wants this. Crowley's not sure himself, except that it's been something he's done so many times before, alone and guilty for imagining Aziraphale in the starkness of his room, so maybe the reality will wash the sourness away. 

'We don't have to do it tonight?' Aziraphale offers.

He actually thinks that one through a moment before shaking his head. 'I want to. Not very good at asking, that's all,' as though that's any kind of news to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale moves them both round so he can kiss Crowley properly. He lets the world slide away for a while, lost in the give and take pressure of Aziraphale's mouth, feeling safe rather than turned on for now but delighting in that just the same. More so, maybe. 

'Can you show me what you want, dearest?' Aziraphale's voice is rough, deeper than usual. Crowley loves it when he sounds like that. 

'Yeah. Yeah, I can.' 

'Good.'

He finishes undressing them both by hand, managing to keep his eyes open as he does so. Aziraphale's half hard already, cock resting against the crease of his thigh, fingers teasing at his nipples as he waits for Crowley to fight his way out of jeans that are far too tight. 

'Beautiful,' isn't what he intends to say but it spills out anyway. 'You're beautiful.'

Aziraphale smiles up at him and Crowley falls in love all over again. 

'Show me?'

He gets Aziraphale to lay down, kneels next to him. There's still something weird about being on his knees in front of the angel, which he carefully ignores. 

'Used to imagine you like this so much,' he confesses, raking his gaze across Aziraphale's bare chest. 'That I could just look at you, an'...'

'And enjoy it?' Aziraphale guesses. 

'Not have to stop.'

Aziraphale's hard now, cock red and flush against the curve of his stomach as though being the subject of Crowley's regard is arousing in its own right. Crowley swallows. He hadn't really thought that Aziraphale might enjoy being watched, that he might get something out of it as well and he suddenly thinks he might not be so selfish in wanting this. 

'Stop thinking,' Aziraphale tells him and teases at his nipples again. 

Crowley watches, unable to look away as Aziraphale traces across his ribs, trails fingers across his hips. His mouth is very dry suddenly, his body aching with arousal. 

He watches for a moment, watches Aziraphale pleasure himself. And it is pleasure; the lazy stretch of the angel's limbs, the gentle warmth of his smile, the way he glances at Crowley for permission before touching himself. 

Crowley doesn't think he'd ever seen anything quite so wonderful. 

And he's feeling brave, feeling safe, so he stretches it out a little longer before getting hold of himself. Enjoys it, as Aziraphale would say. 

He's wet already, pre-come slicking his hand. It's better than any of his fantasies, beyond anything he'd expected, because Aziraphale is so obviously enjoying it, because he doesn't have to feel guilty about this. 

He knows he won't last long and doesn't try to fight it. Chases his pleasure openly for once, focusing only on the soft glide of skin in his hand and the little breathy noises that Aziraphale is making. 

'Come on me, dearest,' Aziraphale says, altogether too coherent for someone who's fucking his hand with abandon. 

Crowley crawls forwards, shakes his hair out of his face and touches himself again. Three-four-five strokes and he's coming, yelling Aziraphale's name, watching his spend coat Aziraphale's chest. It looks like pearls, looks like jewels. 

It's more beautiful than his dreams. 

'Crowley...'

'Love you,' he pants. The words always come easiest like this, self control gone for a moment. 'Love you, angel.'

That's enough for Aziraphale, who comes in his hand. 

They're both still for a moment, looking at the artwork they've made of Aziraphale's body, before the angel reaches out and pulls him close. There's another kiss, long and languid, peaceful. 

'You can always ask me for things,' Aziraphale says after a while. 'Ask me for anything, and I'll get it for you. Make it happen for you. Always.'


	9. Food / Author's choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic dessert eating!
> 
> This is, in my head, a sequel to the previous chapter set a few months later. Crowley is much better at taking what he wants now.

This is something he's allowed to have now. To enjoy. Crowley shifts in the seat - he hates restaurant chairs, no way of slouching or folding in them - and wonders for a moment if there's any chance Aziraphale hasn't noticed him fidgeting. Briefly, he thinks he's got away with his dignity intact and wills himself to sit still. Maybe close his eyes for a moment, trust to the glasses to keep Aziraphale from noticing. 

'Are you quite alright, my dear?' Aziraphale grins at him. There's no other word for the supremely pleased look on the angel's face. 

'Fine,' he replies, which isn't really a lie as long as he doesn't have to stand up any time soon. 

'Good.' 

Nobody needs to do that with their lips while eating off a fork. 

He gets to watch. Aziraphale must know he's watching; he's spent enough time with Crowley in bed over the past few months to know what arousal looks like on him, but unlike every other meal they've shared, neither of them have to look away, pretend it's not happening. 

He lets Aziraphale seduce him. 

Watches him lick fastidiously at the fork. Listens to him mutter something about it being hot in here, and roll up his shirtsleeves, so the candlelight shimmers gold against his arm hair. Feels the gentle press of Aziraphale's ankle against his. 

It's his, all his to watch and enjoy. 

By the time Aziraphale's ordered dessert for both of them, Crowley is achingly hard in his jeans and full of so much love for the bastard angel sitting opposite him that his brain is flickering between fucking Aziraphale senseless in the Bentley and the possibility of asking Aziraphale to marry him. Demons aren't supposed to be this happy. 

Demons aren't supposed to get everything they ever wanted. 

'Are you going to eat that, dearest?'

'Uh?' He blinks and forces himself back to some kind of awareness. He'd apparently missed the waiter delivering their desserts. 

Aziraphale's foot is dragging up and down his calf now, the shoelaces rough against his jeans. 

'You look distracted. Here.'

Aziraphale's snagged his plate and is cutting up the poached pear before Crowley can blink. He wants to say something about not wanting to be spoon fed, but Aziraphale gives him a look that says very plainly the angel's thinking about other things he's put in Crowley's mouth recently and there isn't really a comeback to that. 

He does let his tongue get a bit snakey though. 

Aziraphale eats his cake once he's finished feeding Crowley. He's not convinced there ought to be that much cream on the plate. Aziraphale gets some on his fingers and licks it off. Crowley has sat through 27 versions of Hamlet with him. None of them have ever lasted as long as the last few minutes of their meal. 

He's fairly sure there's a few miracles involved in paying the bill, getting out the restaurant and walking across to the Bentley, because he doesn't remember any of it before he's slamming the driver's door shut and turning to look at Aziraphale. 

'Can't wait to get you home,' and he's glad that he hadn't tried speaking much in there; his voice is rough and deep enough to give everything away to anyone listening. 

'Oh? What are you planning to do with me?'

Crowley looks him up and down. Takes his glasses off and does it again, slower. He's gotten good at this asking for what he wants thing now. 

'Make love to you,' which isn't how he normally phrases it out loud, but it's always been what he calls it himself, and he doesn't want to pretend any more. 'Make up for all the times we did this, and I couldn't...'

All the times he'd walked or ridden or finally driven back alone after dropping Aziraphale off somewhere, and gone back someplace that was never quite a home with only his hand and a sense of guilt for company. 

'You can now,' and Aziraphale pulls him in for a kiss, rough and desperate and messy. 'We can. Do whatever we want.'

The Bentley looks after them on the way back. The shop doors open with a snap of his fingers. They stumble inside, holding hands, and as soon as the door's closed, he crowds Aziraphale back against it, kisses him again. 

Aziraphale pulls him close, close enough that there's no way he can miss Crowley's erection pushed against his leg. He doesn't care anymore. Kisses for a while longer, pulls back just long enough to say something about 'all those fucking times I wanted to do this after I've watched you eat,' and goes back to kissing, grinding himself against Aziraphale. 

It's not normally enough to get him off like this, he likes having Aziraphale's hands on him at least, but Aziraphale's pushing against him as well, saying something about 'you didn't think I saw how hard you were in then? How much you were enjoying just watching me eat?' and it's too much. 

He comes rutting against Aziraphale, still fully dressed, and the angel holds him up until his legs come back into service. 

'My turn,' Aziraphale says a few minutes later and they stumble across to the sofa, trying to kiss and walk and not let go of each other. 

'Undress for me?'

Crowley strips mostly off, leaves his shirt on just because he likes the way Aziraphale tugs at it. He's torn a few seams without meaning to, which has no business being as hot as it is. 

Aziraphale's gentle with him, kneeling behind him, slicking him open, easing him open. It's all easy; it's pleasure that makes his breath hitch and his legs tremble. 

Aziraphale being in him feels like home, like his whole form and essence was designed for this. Moving against Aziraphale's thrusts, having his hair and neck stroked; the wet heat of Aziraphale's mouth as the angel bites his shoulder, bites up the back of his neck. The bites will leave constellations of bruises that Crowley wears as a banner. 

He comes again before Aziraphale does, manages not to bring his wings out this time - it always ends badly in this position, they've discovered - and the angel follows him a moment later, calling his name. 

It takes a long while for them to catch their breath, a longer while before there's any need for either of them to talk or move. Crowley curls against him, acknowledges they're both pretty much fucked senseless even if they'd made it back indoors.

His other idea from earlier comes back to him even as Aziraphale snaps lazily and cleans them both up. Gives him confidence even as Aziraphale drags a blanket over them both and strokes Crowley's hair again.   
'Hey angel, I've got something to ask you...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the prompts I'm doing this month; I had a great time doing them and I certainly feel more confident about writing sexy time scenes now. Thank you to everyone who's read these, I hope you've enjoyed them. I'd love to know which was your favourite. 
> 
> Probably be quiet for a while now as I'm working on two different lots of Christmas prompts!


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